Bilateral Face Time
by Link Beyond
Summary: [Complete] Ganam Matronic, maker of fine guns and customised bionics, has been hiding out on Pandora in the hope of a quiet(ish) life. One day, someone unexpected walks into his bunker workshop. He's come to see a man about a face... [May contain an OC, tension, and nuts. ]
1. 1: Proposition

**A/N:** We're 5 years prior to Borderlands, or 10 years prior to Borderlands 2. This fic has been long in the writing. And I mean long. Really. Rated T for occasional swearing, implied threats, and other tension-related situations.

Enjoy.

* * *

**1: Proposition**

Ganam Matronic wasn't much to look at. Pale skin that suggested he was no native of the planet, weathered to a slightly leathery texture by the few times he'd ventured out into the Pandorian sun. Salt and pepper stubble stretched from crown to chin via a weak jawbone, the grey hairs premature but not by much. Small shoulders, stooped from years of labouring at a desk and lacking any great musculature. He had the physique of a man who had neither known desperation nor excess. He looked, on all accounts, distinctly average. He'd found it was an advantage. People always underestimated the average looking. Maybe that's why this person had walked so casually into the bunker he used as both workshop and home.

"We're closed."

Ganam didn't look up from his workstation, although his right hand did twitch towards the pistol he kept in the drawer below. There was no need for that yet. The footsteps behind him had the heavy, authoritative thump of boots that were used to walking all over people. While this wasn't exactly a good sign, in the outback of The Dust anything that wasn't the thundering rampage of bandits, or the escaped Dahl psychos, was more than preferable. It wasn't often he got to do business with people in full possession of their wits these days.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realise."

The voice was soft, male and had a barely perceptible undertone of insincerity that made Ganam's neck hair stand up on end.

The voice sighed.

"It's just I... I have a problem and I thought that the best bionic technician this side of Eden-5 would be the one to come to." He sighed again, melancholy oozing from the sound. "I... I suppose I could approach someone else..."

There was a shuffling sound of boots scuffing against the dusty concrete floor as they made towards the door.

"Wait."

Ganam pulled himself out of his stoop, spine popping as his vertebrae released hours of built up pressure. He lowered his tools slowly, laying the bronzed picks carefully into the cradles that ran the length of the workstation. They glittered in the harsh spotlight that illuminated only where he worked, leaving the rest of the crumbling subterranean bunker in thick shadow. Ganam looked over his shoulder and squinted, unable to see his visitor clearly through the combination of gloom and myopia.

"Why come to me? S'not like I advertise."

"Oh, did I come to the wrong place?" The stranger's tone suggested he knew he hadn't. "It's just I was told to seek out a Mr Matronic. Best of the best, they said. Find him in the back of beyond on Pandora. If you're not him, I apologise for bothering-"

"No. That's me alright."

Ganam couldn't help himself; he was immensely proud of what he did. Not his guns, although they were fine pieces of work. No, his crowning glory had been custom bionics. Technological enhancements of the human body had been his specialism, his reason to live. He'd almost made a name for himself, writing theories on how they could be used. Even started a little practical work. He'd taken to calling himself a bio-mechanic rather than a gun maker. His father had taken a dim view of this.

Matronic's Munitions had been in the family for generations, the secrets of the master weapon smith passed from father to son. Custom built from scratch, every Matronic's gun was as unique as the owner due in no small part to the patented bionic interface between man and machine. The gun was only usable by its intended owner. Ganam Matronic's life had been set to go the same way as his forebears until an accident augmenting a corrosive weapon left him missing a sizeable chunk of his left hand.

The sudden disability had acted as a wakeup call to the young Ganam. He'd watched his life flitting by, pacing a workshop full of workers and ruled over by an overbearing father who wanted him to go on to manage the company. He'd been good at what he did, but it just hadn't been what he wanted. It wasn't until one morning staring at his ruined hand that he had an Idea with a capital I. What if the Matronics bionic technology could be more than just a security feature on an expensive weapon?

Ganam rubbed the almost imperceptible join between his hand and the synthetic flesh of his mechanised fingers thoughtfully.

"What's this problem of yours?"

"Well, Mr Matronic, you see..." The visitor strode forwards, stopping just short of entering the light.

"I'm in need of a new face. And I'm told you can be the one to make it happen."

Ganam coughed, although it could have been a chuckle. He lifted his magnifying goggles further from his eyes to try and get a better look at his uninvited guest. He couldn't make out much. Male. Tall. Strong shoulders with a light built that suggested wiry strength. Too well dressed for your usual Pandorian, all yellow and white shirt that screamed target practise should any bandits catch sight of him. A briefcase of scuffed skaghide carelessly dropped by his feet, old and shabby in contrast to his clearly better kept attire. Casual stance, thumbs hooked in his belt as if to point out his unarmed state.

Idiot.

"Well, that's quite a problem. But you know what?" Ganam spat into the dirt, squaring up his shoulders in a way he knew the bandits found intimidating despite his size. "I ain't workin' on that kinda shit for cheap. Complex stuff, hooking up custom bionic parts to a human nervous system. I'm gonna need serious payment, assuming you survive."

The man said nothing. Ganam looked him up and down with a sneer before turning back to his work station, making a dismissive hand gesture over his shoulder. He reached for a set of pliers off to his left, synthetic fingertips closing carefully on the rubberised grip. He was about to mutter something about time wasters to himself when a sound made him freeze.

The man was clapping slowly.

"Oh, that was good. You try the tough guy act on all your customers?" He sounded amused. "I don't doubt it's complex and all that. It's just that it's more a case of-"

There were three quick footsteps, followed by the sound of something digistructing close to his left ear.

"-assuming _you_ survive."

Gun-metal caressed Ganam's skull. The sonofabitch was quick, he'd give him that. He caught a glimpse of the yellow and white striped gun. Hyperion pistol. Not known for single shot accuracy, but at point-blank range that was no comfort. From the size, he estimated a magazine size of about 6... No, make it 8 bullets. More than enough, even if he magically managed to dodge a few. To top it off, it was making a soft cracking noise. Electrified. Even better.

No, this guy wasn't the usual customer at all.

"Did you know Ganam - and I can call you that now, right? - Did you know that I am extremely capable-" The gun tapped the mechanic's stubbled head lightly, just below and behind his ear. "-of ending this business transaction any time I see fit?"

He paused.

"And by ending, you do know I mean pulling the trigger, right? I'm never sure about you bandit types understanding the power of subtlety for dramatic effect."

"Whatever. I do now." Ganam was proud to note the lack of concern in his voice as he stayed staring ahead, the man's shadow looming large on the concrete wall. He was used to having guns pointed at him, albeit not usually this close and not without a fully charged shield unit. They were usually brandished by some madman. But he'd worked with those kind of madmen before, knew what it was they wanted. He wasn't so sure about this one.

The mechanic's brain felt as if it were in overdrive, methodically running through the possibilities. Knowing full well he wasn't getting any younger, he didn't much rate his chances of either fighting his unexpected captor off or escaping. The alternative left an unpleasant taste in the back of his throat. His eyes flickered towards the open door automatically, betraying his thoughts even as he discounted the possibility.

"Oh, I wouldn't be doing that if I were you."

This unusual man didn't miss a damn thing.

"Y'see, I got this prototype loader all made up special. Left him outside." He continued, menace in his voice that lurked beneath the pleasant tone. "Programmed him myself too. You'll have to let me know if there are any bugs. You know, in the AI coding. Might kill someone he's not supposed to, that sort of thing."

Swallowing away the acrid taste of bile, Ganam narrowed down his options. Fight, flight... Or acquiescence.

He licked his dry lips.

"So... I make you a new face, I keep my life."

"Well done." There was something condescending in the elongated vowel sounds. "I knew you were a smart one when I first set eyes on you."

The gun lifted slightly away, no longer pressing against his scalp. Ganam resisted the urge to itch.

"OK then. I'll need something to go on." Ganam thought fast. Keep him talking. Get him out of here.

"What would you like your new face to be like?"

The man paused, the heavy shadow he cast on the wall tilting its head in a parody of deep thought. His voice when he spoke echoed wistfulness coupled with manic desire.

"Handsome."


	2. 2: Expected Outcome

**2: Expected Outcome**

He'd left no name or method of contact, only a promise to return in a week to check on progress. That, and the grimy briefcase.

Ganam shuddered, rubbing a mechanical finger over his scalp. He could still feel the phantom of gunmetal. For all his bravado, that had left him unsettled.

He looked down at the weather-beaten case, which was full of papers. Sketches mostly, drawn with fanatical precision along with a scattering of specifications and measurements. But amongst the sheets of pristine technical paper, he'd found this.

He held the photo up to the light. Well, half a photo. The right side and whatever it contained was missing. He could hazard a guess at what it had been. The picture showed a man, presumably his unexpected customer, holding the hand of a small, raven-haired girl who looked barely old enough to stand on her own. The man's lower face was scribbled out with enough force to bleed through the paper, leaving just enough to show eye colour and skin tone visible while erasing any clear identity. Measurements were scrawled alongside it which would help him to plan the proportions. The tear went dead centre, ripping the child in two. There was the hint of a shoulder leaning in, the man's arm around the missing figure. They were standing in a small garden, some place green and temperate. They looked happy. Normal.

Except there was something strained about the man's eyes, like the smile didn't quite touch them.

* * *

He could just about remember that moment. It'd been shortly after Angel had told him she could hear a robot dreaming. She'd told him things that had made everything change.

John the programmer, the nobody, had taken home a little side project one night. One of the flying sentinel bots from the compound had suffered some unusual problems since it had received the Hyperion firmware patch two days ago. Poor little thing had been sent to be decommissioned. He'd persuaded the bot handlers to give it over to him to attempt to fix.

He'd wanted to fix it, of course. Useful things, sentinel bots. They could circle the entire compound in less than 2 minutes, getting a good view of everything going on. John had liked to know what was going on.

So he'd sat at the table that night while his wife and daughter slept, picking out the old chips that stored the security functions and replacing them with his own. As long as they took, he'd been fairly sure he could sort out the coding errors. John hadn't been Second Technician for nothing.

_"Dad? Are you making him fly again?"_

_He was so surprised by his little girl that he bent a connector pin. _

_"Damnit."_

_He couldn't be angry with her though, standing there on the bottom step in her nightdress and clutching a garishly pink stuffed rabbit. She giggled._

_"Damnit!" She said in a sing-song tone before laughing again._

_"Honey, don't curse."_

_She hopped off the stair, padding across the cold linoleum to the table looking suitably chastised. _

_"Sorry Dad."_

_He tapped her on the nose. She wrinkled it at him with a smile before peering closer at the bot on the table, face lighting up with fascination. Her eyes were big and bright and curious as she leaned on the table edge. He focussed on them, rather than the marks on her arm. _

_"Sweetie, what are you doing out of bed? Mom'll-"_

_"Please let him fly, Dad. He really wants to." She looked up at him, serious in a way that no 4 year old should be. "He's been dreaming about it all day."_

He let the voice of his memory fade, feeling his frown tug at the scar tissue on his forehead. She'd always been strange, his little Angel. It had bothered him, although in the half of the photo he still had in his hand the woman who had been his wife looked completely at ease. That was when she thought she'd won.

A career woman, specialising in corporate public relations, she'd fought tooth and nail to protect their child (not to mention her own professional reputation) from all those shady government-corporate types who'd wanted to take her. Examine her. _Use_ her for their own nefarious purposes. She'd had to tell a lie to the outside world, and extracted a promise from him to keep Angel ignorant of what she in all likelihood was. It was the only way to keep her theirs.

_"She's not a Siren. She's never shown any sign of anything unnatural beyond the markings. It's a fluke... Cosmic coincidence. Right, John?"_

He snorted at the recollection. That woman could put a spin on anything. It really had been love, even if she had thought Angel an aberration. Maybe she'd told the lie so many times she'd come to believe it herself.

He looked into her smiling eyes, and wondered vaguely if she'd ever suspected what was to come.

* * *

Ganam put the photo back inside the case. He'd use it as reference later, much against his own judgement. He'd yearned for a reason to do something, anything, other than fix crooked scopes or augment the gun-things that the bandits had cobbled together.

But this? This crazy man wanted a new _face_. There was something inherently _wrong_ about such a request. This man, this terrible and undoubtedly clinically insane man, would be the death of him.

The mechanic wanted to grab what gear he could and run. Maybe the bandits would hide him, or maybe the Dahl mining team needed an extra pair of hands. But he knew it wasn't that simple. Even if he made it out, the crazy man would find him. Something drove him, some fanatical self-belief that could only mean bad things for those who crossed him. He'd wipe Pandora clean of life to find what he wanted. And sadly, what he wanted was someone with Ganam's skills.

Not to mention there was the problem of his unfortunate employer's pet loader.

He'd gathered the courage to walk towards the door, about an hour after his visitor had gone. It had been left wide open, allowing the sand dunes to begin their slow march into his dwelling. The heat of the afternoon carried in on the wind and it moaned through the doorway, making the barely-good-for-scrap door bang against the wall. He'd reached out, intending to close it. Bar it, if need be, to keep anyone and everyone (but especially_ him_) out.

Something had whirred. Clanked. Hummed with electricity.

_"Identify."_

Ganam sat in his work chair, wringing his still shaking hands. His face burned with the shame. In all his years of working with dubious characters, psychotic or otherwise, he'd never been as afraid as he had in that moment.

But he was nothing if not pragmatic. One piece of advice his father had given him was that a professional attitude was the most important part of business. He'd changed into a fresh set of clothes and returned to his workshop, ready and able.

If only he'd been content to stay at the family business. If only he hadn't been forced to go into hiding following that little incident with that damn conman assassin. If only he'd hidden somewhere better than Pandora.

"You made this bed, Ganam you old fool. Now lie in it."

With a resigned grimace, the mechanic turned to his work bench and started to plan.


	3. 3: Discussion

**3: Discussion**

Some characters had a tendency to soliloquise. They were likely to be both more verbose and less sane than the average populace. This man appeared to possess such a character.

"What's it like, being your own boss? I always thought of trying it out."

Ganam wanted to quote the whole 'the customer is king' shtick at him, but decided it was safer to remain bent over the metal mesh on his workstation. He'd leave the madman to pace and talk uninterrupted. He seemed to be happiest hearing the sound of his own voice, and knowing that someone else could hear it too.

Boots stomped unnervingly near. Ganam caught a glimpse of the man meandering closer, pausing to inspect various gun parts and plans that littered every available surface.

"'Cause my boss, he's an ass." He paused. Sniffed. "I think part of being in charge means you have to have a suitable level of skill in assholery. You know, just 'cause you can."

He stooped, picking up one of Ganam's medical anatomy texts. Flicked through the slightly bloodied pages. Sniggered at the illustrations. The mechanic did his best to ignore him, keeping his head down and looking at the abomination in progress before him.

"Well this looks out of place. It's actually finished."

Ganam flinched, giving in again and glancing over his shoulder. The madman dropped the book casually to the floor and stomped over to the only section of wall space that didn't contain his supply shelves. It was where a black rifle hung, daubed with a pattern of red and gold, strangely clean amidst the dust. The mechanic couldn't help the swell of pride, despite the man's intended slight.

"Last gun I ever made from scratch."

The silhouette of the man bent closer.

"And you named it Reckless Abandon?" The man whistled through his teeth in a dismissive sort of way. "You got a way with words, I'll give you that."

"Guy who commissioned it liked it too. Until… Well, he didn't like it in the end."

"Sounds like a story. I'm all for stories. I got time to kill, amongst other things." The man hopped casually up to sit on the least cluttered crate, sending a box of empty rifle shells tinkling to the floor.

Ganam grunted noncommittally and turned back to the mesh on the desk. Although he half expected it, he still felt his breath catch at the sound of something digistructing behind him. He could hear the soft slapping sound of metal being passed from hand to hand.

He exhaled slowly.

Give him what he wants.

"The guy was a hitman on Athenas. He was going after some religious leader or other who was terrorising the people with talk of a secret weapon. The 'Impending Storm' or something like that. Anyway, he wanted something special, so he commissioned the rifle." Ganam began laying down another strip of wire, tacking it in place despite the unfamiliar tremor that crept into his hand movements. "Nice bit of kit, that. High power scope, silencer, and a little bit of modified Torgue tech to do with explosive bullets."

"Well, I won't tell Mr Torgue you've violated his patents if you don't." There was something grating in the way he said it, so offhand and with evident relish. The crazy man liked to issue threats, idle or otherwise. "Now how about we skip to the good bit?"

Ganam could feel expectant eyes on his back. He cleared his throat.

"The hitman tried to con me out of payment. He didn't know my back up plan."

"Oooh, the suspense is just killing me."

"I set all gun bionic signatures to respond only to me until I receive payment and am a suitable distance away. He tried to shoot me. The gun didn't work, so he goes to throw it down. I grab it and..."

Ganam raised his right hand, index and middle finger extended with the others curled back beneath his thumb. The silhouette loomed large on the concrete wall. He held it steady for a moment, and then cocked it back in a quick, fluid motion.

"Bang." He sighed. "If I'd got the cash from that sale, I wouldn't have to be in this hole."

"You know, in another life I think we could have got along really well." His voice seemed vaguely wistful; although it was doubtful a man like this had ever had friends, let alone wanted them. "So this bionic locking stuff. Anyone ever beaten you at your own game? Used a gun they shouldn't have?"

"Not yet they haven't." Ganam huffed, not much caring for this line of questioning. Under normal circumstances he'd have threatened anyone who questioned his reputation with a gyrojet to the head. But these were abnormal circumstances.

"You know, there are some really good hackers out there. Young, clever. I'd hate to think your tech isn't up to scratch against them."

"They'd have to be the best damn hacker in the system to do anything to it." Ganam paused in his work, trying to find the simplest way to explain. "It's more mechanical than electronic. My biometric interfacing is like… Like synthetic nerves and muscles. Not code. They're powered by the electronic pulses generated by the body they're designed to interface with. Without that input, it'd be inert."

"That low tech? Huh."

Ganam ignored the barbed comment. The crazy man was clearly one of those electronic elitists, where if it didn't contain silicone chips they believed it couldn't be called technology. More fool them.

There was a soft thump as the man slid down from the box and, much to Ganam's relief, the sound of the gun digistructing away. The peace didn't last long, broken by a distinct rustling. Plastic, food grade from the sound of it, being torn open. The faint yet familiar smell of roasted peanut drifted uncomfortably up Ganam's nose.

Great. He'd brought snacks.

"But you know, I have one question." Crunching. "How come you don't brand your guns? I mean, who's going to know to come to you if you don't shove it in their face? Isn't that what branding's for?"

"Be a fool to put my name on them still." Ganam chuckled softly to himself. "Guess I'm just lucky Kincaid hasn't come lookin' for me yet as it is."

"Kincaid? Marcus Kincaid? The arms dealer with the hot wife?" The madman let out a bark of laughter. "Feeling threatened by bandits now is he?"

"Mind how you say it. Bandits run this rock. You're either with them or..." Ganam shrugged, whistling through his teeth. "Hell, they'll kill you even if you're with them."

"True." The man paused in his tracks, and although he didn't risk a look back Ganam could image him tapping his chin in an over-acted gesture of deliberation. "Someone should really do something about that. Pandora could use a saviour. A hero."

He fell silent, footsteps resuming their methodical pacing across the room. Ganam wanted to say something about not finding that sort of person round here, but thought better of engaging in such a debate. Not to mention the madman probably wouldn't care if Ganam tried to explain that not everyone on Pandora was a bandit.

Or at least, they weren't all the bad sort of bandit. Some of the Hodunks were pretty decent, and the Zafods made the best damn ale on the planet (not that it said much, as they made the only damn ale on the planet). He'd done work for them and they'd brought him supplies every month in return. They called him Gun-man, either because of what he did or because they hadn't been able to pronounce his name. Bandits they may technically be, but they'd done right by him.

The mechanic took the moment of peace and quiet to admire his work. Each of the hundreds of individual wires appeared as no more than spiderant silk, coming together to form an electrical equivalent of a human facial circulatory system. The effect was both strangely beautiful and disturbing.

"Did I hear right that you once did full body conversions on some kind of ninja-assassin group? Like some creepy ass body swap thing?"

"How'd you hear that?" Ganam was impressed that he managed to resist the urge to flinch at the sudden change of topic. Especially as it was one he hadn't thought he'd have anything to do with ever again. That had been when he'd had his workshop somewhere more reputable (even if only slightly). When life had been more interesting than just guns, guns, guns. But while he'd missed his private bionics lab, he found having any life preferable to being hunted down by a pissed off league of anti-Impending Storm hitmen.

"I have my sources."

"They're good. That's the sort of thing people like to keep quiet. Not to mention I know as a fact 3 of the 4 are dead." The mechanic reached for another synthetic nerve strip with a sigh. "Not because of my work, though."

"Darn, and there I was looking for testimonials." The sarcasm grated on the mechanic, but like so many other things, he let it slide. "Go on then. How'd it work?"

He didn't want to say. The conversation was straying into dangerous territory. But his scalp pricked at the thought of refusal. If he strained his ears, he was sure he could still hear the hum of electricity that had haunted his sleep this past week. The mechanic cleared his throat and tried to use his most conversational tone to play it down.

"Only one had full conversion, although most of his torso and brain were still, shall we say, original." Ganam smoothed the nerve strip into place, recalling what had been his best but most disquieting job to date. "Special case though. He was in a hell of a state when they brought him in. A bloody mess, in more ways than one. The rest just had augmentation. Stuff for stamina, accuracy, you know…"

He trailed off as his mouth dried up. Talk like this got you killed by your ex-clients. Provided you current one didn't do the honours.

Just give him what he wants and then get the hell off this rock.

"Mhm, interesting. So tell me." The man said, sounding anything but interested. "Ever tried augmenting a robot with bio parts? 'Cause that would be_ really_ interesting. Not just more of the same, y'know?"

Ganam drew in breath quickly, making an angry hissing noise as it passed through his front teeth.

"That would be an abomination." He tried to ignore his earlier thoughts about the thing that sat on the work surface before him. "Besides, where would I get the biological parts from?"

"Volunteers? You could call it scientific research. _Progress_." He said the last word with such reverence he could have been speaking about some higher religious belief.

"I think I'll stick to what I know."

"You do that."

Despite being curious about this mysterious madman's appearance, Ganam didn't need to be able to see him to know that his expression must constantly be set to sneer.

Plastic rustled, casually dropped to the floor. It sounded close.

"How long will it take?"

The mechanic became uncomfortably aware of his employer standing near enough to look over his shoulder. How did he do that? Perhaps he made a point of stomping half the time just to make it all the more unnerving when he managed to sneak around.

Ganam started to turn his head, hoping to finally get a look at the crazy man's face, wondering if it betrayed his insanity. Before his neck had gone 10 degrees, he felt the cold shiver of something digistructing. The familiar hum of electricity held him firmly in place. Though he felt like growling with frustration, he managed to hold it in check. A good thing too. It threatened to morph into a scream before it had left his lips.

"Something this complex?" Ganam sucked his teeth, uncomfortably aware of the gun in the vicinity of his cortex while he played for time. "Three more weeks, I'd say."

"Make it two and a half." There was a hint of that derisive sneer in his voice. "I'm wasting valuable holiday allowance on this rock."

"My supplies are running low. It'll take at least a week before-"

"Broadcast to frequency 8Y93-R105 with what you need. You'll get it via satellite drop."

Ganam nodded mutely, tongue like sandpaper. So this man was both crazy and powerful enough to have a delivery satellite in orbit? Damn.

There was a sudden sense of space behind him.

"Two and a half weeks, Mr Matronic. When my project on Pandora's finished, I expect it to be done." Footsteps moved towards the door. "Don't call me, I'll call you. Ciao."

Ganam took a deep breath, only turning his head back to a comfortable position once he was sure he was alone. His neck cracked loudly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the bright yellow plastic packet the man had discarded. It rolled like synthetic tumbleweed into the dark shadows of the bunker. A vein twitched under his eye. He felt something inside his head snap. He hated his fear. He hated his inability to act. And he hated, really _hated_…

Forget his rules of professionalism; this client was definitely not right.

He slammed his fist down onto the work surface. The impact rattled tools from their holders.

"Damnit."


	4. 4: Reasoning

**4: Reasoning**

It was dark outside, the moonlight creeping into the bunker as the door flapped in the warm breeze. Ganam remained motionless, hunched in the gloom by his desk. He couldn't face having the light on, and felt he needed the quiet that only truly fell when the generator was switched off.

He'd barely moved for the last two days. It felt as though there was a heavy weight resting inside hit gut. His fingers tingled, his eyes burned, and his nerves were set on edge. There was a constant burning sensation in his chest, and the twitchiness in restless limbs rarely abated for more than a few minutes at a time. All this he'd felt before to some degree, but it was so strong this time. Perhaps he'd pushed himself harder this time to make the deadline, reaching true exhaustion. God knew a gun to the head could do that to a man.

But he knew inside that that wasn't it.

_"So why are you doing this, if I may ask?"_

Ganam had decided to ask the question as the door creaked the arrival of his guest, sick to his stomach but managing to fight off the fear. Why should the crazy man get to do all the asking? He threatened, he stalked, he ranted and raved, and he _asked_ endlessly.

For all the crazy man loved to talk, he hadn't responded straight away.

Ganam had anticipated the man's arrival with a sense of foreboding. It had become a ritual to be acted out every couple of days as they headed into the final allocated week. He'd walk in like he owned the place, talked and then went without a care for what he left behind. A dangerous man, calculated in his indifferent attitude. Ganam hated to think what would happen should this man ever find himself in a position of any great power.

_"You tried using your imagination? I thought you were one of the clever ones. Creative."_

Of course, the crazy man had turned it into a chance to belittle him.

_"It's a straightforward enough question." _ Ganam had answered back, somehow. _"People always have their own reasons."_

He didn't add that they were usually selfish reasons, although they almost exclusively were.

_"True. Very true."_

Strangely, the man had spent much of the rest of their meeting quietly, watching with his silhouette spread in a passively threatening manner across the back wall. Ganam had worked, a smugness blossoming in his chest. He'd felt like he'd scored a point in the verbal battle the man seemed to enjoy creating between them. Then the crazy man had started pawing through files, rifling through Ganam's things as if to show he still held the upper hand.

It wasn't until he'd gone that Ganam had noticed the files had been taken from the boxes in the corner, the ones he'd left sealed for almost 10 years. Seeing the Matronic's Munitions stamp broken, a little stab of ice had struck him in the ribs. Those designs and specifications had been his life's work. They were his personal, private things, and the crazy man had had his hands all over them. Not that he could have comprehended them of course. Not unless he was some kind of genius. Ganam hoped that was not the case. They were his manual, the legacy of all he'd created in the bionics labs before he'd run away.

Sitting there in the shadows, he wondered vaguely whatever had happened to the family business. His sister had taken over no doubt. She had been destined for it, far more deserving of it than he. Anna was strong, like her father. She would never have ended up like this. Maybe in leaving to pursue his own dreams, he'd done the right thing. Even if his reality had fallen short of the ideas he'd had in his young, foolish head, he hadn't just done it for himself. He hadn't wanted the company, the responsibilities and rigid structures that kept the machine of industry going. Anna had.

Maybe it was the truth. Maybe it wasn't.

He wasn't sure anymore, but he didn't intend of dwelling on it. Some people needed the lies to live, and hell, maybe he was one of them. He'd clung to it all these years, afraid someone would ask about his past. They never had. The beauty of Pandora was that its residents weren't the conversational type.

Perhaps, in some horrible way, he and the crazy man were alike.

He couldn't be sure, but when he left he'd been muttering something. Ganam had assumed he'd been speaking to himself like the desert bandits he'd encountered who'd lost their wits, but now he wasn't so sure. Two words had stood out in particular. They could even have been the answer that Ganam had asked for. If they were, he might just be able to understand the reason, if not the method.

As he'd left, the crazy man had whispered:

_"For her."_

* * *

_The loader, a miniature prototype specification model barely 7 inches tall, was dancing round the lounge._

_The first thought he had was_ 'It shouldn't be doing that'. F_air enough really, as the model didn't possess any kind of programming. The code was all still on his computer, encrypted so well even Tassiter wouldn't be able to find and take the credit. Hell, its processor had been from an aged laptop he'd fished out of the office compactor. He'd thought it more likely the thing would explode than walk._

But that had been the problem with John. He'd been a bit slow on the uptake, even if he did show initiative.

_Only once assessing how impossible it was did he look for the cause. The cause, it turned out, was a little girl, singing a nursery rhyme and glowing like it was the most normal thing in the world. He almost didn't recognise her._

_"All around the stactus plant..."_

John's- His little Angel.

"_S- Sweetie?"_

_The glow stopped abruptly, the loader falling to the floor. Angel's face fell too, eyes wide with an all-encompassing fear that nearly broke his heart as he realised it was because of _him_. Her eyes brimmed with tears even as the afterglow left them._

_The room had been silent for a short moment, like the calm before the storm. Then she'd curled into a ball on the floor, a wail of childish despair building in her throat._

_"Hey, don't cry. Don't cry, pumpkin." He worked to keep the tremor out of his voice as he rushed to his daughter's side. He had no idea what was going on. No idea at all. Except he did. Didn't want to think about it. The possibility was too amazing, though his wife would disagree. He'd hoped… He smothered the thought._

_He dropped to the cold floorboards, putting his arms around her and whispering soothing words into her hair. _

_"It's OK now. Daddy's here."_

_"I'm sorry. I'm s-" Her little voice caught on a sob. "I just- I just- He was _sad_, Dad. I just- Just wanted to cheer him up. Mom'll be so angry. Mom'll-"_

_"Shh. It's OK."_

_It didn't feel OK. She was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. Her skin buzzed with power. It was almost frightening how something so small could contain so much. It rolled off her in waves, rising and falling with every beat of her little heart. As strange as it was, it didn't surprise him that the television screen burst into life, channels flicking past. The loader model started to thrash on the floor. The ceiling light flashed and hummed, the bulb exploding under the pressure. Other miniature explosions tickled the edge of his hearing beyond the howls of his little girl, telling him that he'd have some cleaning up to do before his wife came home (A power surge, one of his loader experiments gone wrong. The lies came to him so easily)._

_He held Angel until the tears, and the electrical insanity around them, subsided. He wasn't sure how he held it together, but he did. He had to. For her._

_"Now, how about you tell Daddy what happened?"_

_Angel wriggled around so the she was looking up at him, eyes bloodshot and face red. It hurt to see her so unhappy. She gasped and sniffled, unable to speak at first. Her eyes then flicked over to the desk in the corner of the crowded room. He followed her gaze._

_"Mr Robot's mind was- Was in there. He seemed so sad, so I..." Her face scrunched up. "I put him back together. In my head."_

_"In your..." _

_John felt a stab of adrenaline, cold and exciting, break through the blankness he'd lived in his entire life. He'd been told this moment would never come, but now it had and it was as if someone had switched a golden light of opportunity on overhead. He knew what he should do; or rather what his wife would want him to do. But he found it strangely easy to break his promise to her._

_"How did you find the- Mr Robot's mind?"_

_"Easy." Her face smiled while her eyes didn't. Such a grown up look for a child. "I followed the path. There were some doors, but I opened them."_

_"And... Do you think you could do it again?"_

_She looked at him, so serious. Nodded._

_"Are you mad at me?"_

_"Of course not. You're my little princess." He squeezed her. "I love you."_

_She returned the hug._

_"Mom will be mad though. Mom doesn't want me to be- To be-"_

_A Siren. They both knew it, he through education, she through instinct. Neither could bring themselves to say it._

_No one had been able to say it except her mother, and she'd only said the word to deny it. She'd been so afraid when Angel was born. So fearful they'd take her baby away, and afraid that the shame of bringing a Siren into the world would destroy her reputation. Everything she'd worked for gone, taken from her because of one stupid moment where she'd thought with her maternal instinct and not her head._

_Her words, not his, when they'd argued that one time. Angel had been in her crib nearby, barely old enough to be out of the hospital incubator. Rationally he knew she couldn't have understood back then, but she knew now._

_He felt Angel shake with the threat of more tears._

_"Not if she doesn't know, eh?" He gave her a conspiratorial wink. "It can be our little secret."_

_Angel's face lit up, mercifully metaphorically. _

The man sitting on the Hyperion transport shuttle cursed. The work of the last few weeks had dredged up the past, making it plague his subconscious even as he dozed. He didn't like it, but it was a necessary evil. He would suffer for his cause, and in doing so would keep her from harm as he always had done. She didn't understand, but it was all for her.

Everything he'd done was for her.

His little Angel.

* * *

Ganam's bones screamed at him to move, his guts writhed in agony and yet still he stayed motionless. He felt like a long held breath, waiting for the moment of exhalation. In truth, he'd been waiting since that man had entered the bunker, pulled the gun and held it to his head. Every waking moment had had such terrifying purpose. Little food and even less sleep had left him a hollow thing. Only his curious pride, his drive to do _something_, had kept him going until now.

He could see his shadow against the back wall, where so often he'd glimpsed his oppressive customer's. He'd never been vain, but he could tell that he appeared ragged round the edges. Sunken cheeks and bloodshot eyes probably, like one of those dehydrated desert bandits. Had they ever felt like this? No wonder they were mad.

But no, fatigue didn't cover it by a long shot. It was the anticipation, the dread that filled him. He sat in the dark to hide the thing he'd created.

It was finished.

He knew he wasn't done yet though. Not three hours ago the radio had crackled, and he'd heard instructions alongside the _thwack_ of a satellite drop outside. It was the impact that had thrown the door open. He hated going to get the drops, fearing he'd find the loader waiting. He hadn't so far. Perhaps it was under instruction to stay hidden unless it had to-

He didn't want to think about it.

He'd have to move, to act on what he'd been told to do in preparation for the man's last visit. His body and mind conflicted, but he knew he'd have to move. Do this task, then sleep.

Then come what may, he'd have to be ready.

"Ain't no rest for the wicked."

He breathed the words to the night, using them to kick-start himself into action. Pain shrieked through him as he went to address his tasks, leaving the soulless face of the man who would be his death leering in the moonlight.


	5. 5: Preparation

**5: Preparation**

He arrived with the dawn, punctual to the millisecond. Must've been something to do with the fancy, high-tech pocket watch gizmo he'd clipped to his shirt today. Not the yellow, faintly sweat-stained one so scruffy it suggested he lived in it. No, this was a clean, crisp white. New, still with the burns-the-back-of-your-throat scent of the protective atmosphere it had been vacuum packed in.

Weary as he'd never been before, Ganam stood next to his workbench and squinted against the bright light that ringed his most recent customer like a halo.

The man clapped his hands together in a business-like way.

"Rise and shine, Mr Matronic. Today's your big day." He was evidently in a good mood- his sarcasm replaced with something sing-song and equally unnerving. "First things first. Did you get the med drop?"

"Yes. Back room's as sterile as it'll ever be."

"Good." He cleared his throat in what could have been a self-conscious sort of way, if he were any other person. "Now, I suppose we'll have to get on with some introductions. I believe that having come this far together, we have an... Understanding. My anonymity means a lot to me. Should that be compromised at any point in the future, well. I'd be very _disappointed_ in you."

He left the unspoken threat hanging long enough to sink in, and then stepped forwards into the light.

Ganam wasn't entirely sure what he'd expected.

Scarring ran the length of the man's face, criss-crossing every inch of his skin. It all centred on the ridges of whitened tissue that had cut across his eye as it formed a disturbingly familiar symbol. Ganam had seen the mark before, scrawled across walls in the few ruins he'd seen back when he'd felt adventurous. He'd seen those bandits driven mad by the merciless sun sit outside on the dunes purposefully drawing it in the sand as they laughed hysterically. Even some of the more rational bandit clans had taken to wearing it alongside their clan symbol. He'd asked one of them once, one of the Hodunks who visited regularly, what it meant.

With sombre eyes and a reverend tone, he'd uttered two words.

_The Vault._

It was as if that was all the explanation he felt the need to give. Ganam hadn't pushed it any further, thinking it curious but unimportant. Yet here it was again, etched on the outworlder's face.

The man watched his reaction with his one good eye (Blue - damnit, he'd made the specified synthetic veneer on the mask green. The photo must've had a colour cast). Both men remained cautiously impassive.

"Seen worse." The mechanic shrugged nonchalantly, sinking back behind the facade of calm indifference that had kept him alive so far. Ganam coughed awkwardly, turning away to retrieve the mask.

He had seen worse. He really had. Like when that assassin - little more than a boy, really - had been brought to him after having been cut down while on a job. There had barely been anything left of him to hold the flesh to his bones once his sneak suit had been removed. Looked like a skag's breakfast. It had taken several hours of surgery and God knew how many weeks recovering, but the kid had lived.

It had been a horrible experience for all involved, but there was something more sinister to this. It was something that couldn't be seen, but Ganam could feel it in his gut. This man, underneath all the physical damage, should be the same as that smiling man in the photograph. Logically he knew this. But there something different, perhaps in the way he stared or how he held himself. Something that betrayed a certain poise, a rage held back by fragile discipline. Whatever had happened to him had done far worse than mark his face. The scarring went down to his soul, and there was nothing Ganam could do to fix that.

Ganam tried not to gag on the sour taste of danger that suffused his mouth.

When he turned back, he registered the man's dangerous smile. He held out a hand, not needing to speak the threat that hung in the air between them. The threat that would be acted upon should he be displeased.

Ganam had the mask snatched from his hand, and watched the man inspect it with nervous energy pulsing through his veins. Slowly, a cruel smile spread across the man's face.

"That's it! Just the kind of face you could imagine someone calling 'Mr President'." The man turned, sunken eye regarding Ganam like a vulture casing up a dying man. "I'm rarely impressed, Mr Matronic. This is a rare occasion."

He held the mask up, a perfect mirror image of his imperfect face in profile.

"Y'know, I think the heterochromia gives it a certain something. Just says 'special'. Not in that kiddie 'Of course you're special' way. Just 'special'."

Ganam let out a sigh of relief, as quietly as he was able.

"Thought you'd like it." He muttered, sounding thoroughly unconvincing even to himself.

"Of course." He passed the mask back to Ganam, another of those predatory smiles playing on his face. "So, how does this work now?"

"Well, we'd need to get you strapped down in the other room. It's very delicate work. Need you to uh, stay still throughout the procedure." The mechanic had to pause, even the familiar reassurances he'd given his previous test subjects catching in his dry throat. "The anaesthetic I asked for in the last supply drop should keep away the worst of the pain, but-"

"No drugs, Mr Matronic." He gave Ganam a hard stare. "While I'm sure you're only concerned for my wellbeing, you'll have to forgive me for having a few trust issues. I made sure they weren't included."

"You do realise I'm going to have to use a particle saw to fuse the clips to your skull." The mechanic didn't see the point in posing it as a question. It came out as an incredulous statement.

"I realise." There was a cold resolve in his one good eye. "I also realise that you realise that if anything untoward happens to me, my loader will kill anything that moves within a 1 kilometre radius. I am more than willing to go through a little pain."

"O... K. But-"

"Just do your job, Mr Matronic, and do it well. That's all that should concern you, except the death that awaits should you fail." He paused a moment. "Oh, and keep the shirt clean. I've got a very important meeting to go to later. Promotions board. You know how it is."

He had no idea, but regardless Ganam nodded slowly.

"When would you like to get started?"

His gaze was like ice and fire.

"No time like the present."

* * *

_"We are never,_ ever _going to see her. Ever. Period."_

_"Shame." His wife didn't look up, too busy attaching gel plasters to her feet before putting on the sharpest metallic stilettoes he'd ever seen. She called them her power heels. "She made such an impression on you. I always wanted to meet the woman who could keep you in check."_

_There was ice in her voice. She didn't like him being firm with her. However, this was a point he couldn't let pass._

_"Sorry honey, but no. Grandma can stay the Hell out of our lives and we'll be better off for it."_

_"You still haven't told her about us? About-?"_

_"No. Hell. No."_

_She closed her eyes, pulling a faintly despairing face as she inhaled audibly. It was a look that said 'Whatever', although it was clear the issue would arise again when she felt she had a strategic advantage. She was the sort of woman who could wear a person down one syllable at a time. _

_She stood (though in those shoes he wasn't sure how) and scooped up her handbag. The woman was flawless, as ever. Business suit jacket and skirt immaculately cut, make up subtle but strong, and with just the tiniest hint of perfume that lingered after she'd gone without being overpowering. As ever, she exuded a quietly powerful presence. Damn, he loved this woman. Or at least he thought he did. Most of the time. She told him he did often enough._

_"You know what you're doing? I don't want to hear you've been mucking about on the computer all night."_

_"But honey, I-"_

_"_John_."_

_She said it with such emphasis that he didn't even question._

_"Sorry."_

_She smiled that mysterious smile she wore when she gave orders. It suited her so well. She was used to it._

_"Remember, it's half an hour of Mozart before bedtime reading. Lights out at 9. You know what book it is?"_

_"We're on to volume 4 of the Universal Encyclopaedia, page 476."_

_She nodded curtly, crossing the bedroom carpet with practised grace to stand beside him._

_"Very good. Angel will thank me for it when she's older." His wife tilted her chin. "A kiss for luck? It's a big meeting tonight, new investors. But mind the-"_

_Ignoring the proffered cheek, he went for the lips. He liked seeing that spark of annoyance in her eyes when he didn't do exactly as she asked. It made things more fun._

_"Good luck."_

_She huffed, pushing him away playfully like a cat batting away a mouse. All velvet paws and hidden claws, this woman (and he sure knew about the sting of those claws)._

_"I don't want to hear of any funny business. Angel's future is the priority."_

_"Angel's the priority." John murmured, nodding his assent as the woman he thought he loved breezed out of the room. On that one point, they would always agree._

_He listened to the measured footsteps on the stairs, then the click of the door closing behind her. Only then did he move to regard the big blue eyes he'd noticed peering at him from a crack in the wardrobe door._

_"Come on, pumpkin. You know Mom doesn't like hide and seek."_

_The cupboard door opened to reveal his daughter crouching amidst her mom's shoeboxes (there were a lot of shoeboxes). Angel extracted herself from them carefully, but still ended up tumbling rather than climbing onto the carpet. She looked up at him, eyes baleful as she picked herself up._

_"Do I really have to listen to Mom's music again, dad?"_

_John folded his arms across his chest, raising an eyebrow and doing his best stern face._

_"You heard what Mom said."_

_Angel's face fell, hopping between an expression of childish consternation and outright misery._

_"She said she doesn't want to_ hear _of any funny business. I'm not going to tell her." John's lips twitched into an almost smile. "Are you?"_

_His little girl gasped, and he marvelled at how quickly she jumped between emotions. Were all kids like this? _

_"You mean we can work on the project?"_

_"Mhm. There's a new archive that looks interesting, and I found us some more eyes in the sky too."_

_Angel squeaked and ran at him, arms wide. He bent down to catch her tackle-hug, lifting her and swinging her round. She laughed, happy as she always was when they worked together on their secret project. Even after two years of their secret side-project, she was excited by it. She could do some amazing things, but her favourite thing was using monitoring satellites. She loved 'visiting' other planet, and he'd learned some interesting things as well. It wasn't quite the evening her Mom wanted for her six year old daughter, but there was no denying it was educational._

* * *

It was pain like he'd never physically experienced before. Even so, it didn't matter. It could never hurt as much as what had happened to him already. Two of that promising young family had died in front of him. One had already risen from the ashes, become something new and powerful.

And today it was his turn, not so much as to die, but to be reborn.

* * *

_The monitor blinked, windows opening and closing, lines of text flashing past. It was like watching a hacker at work, only without the tap of fingers on the keyboard. There was barely any sound at all, except for his little girl's occasional mumbles. _

_Angel perched on his knee, glowing softly with her head bowed. Wings made of light curled around her protectively, shifting every now and then like silk in an unfelt breeze. Occasionally they brushed John's arm, disappearing through his flesh insubstantially but leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. Even after two years of experimenting with her powers, he hadn't fully got used to it._

_They could only do this when her mother was out. She was out often these days, with Hyperion struggling to maintain appearances while their shareholders debated pulling funding from the loader development project. Even he'd been put on reduced hours, working four day weeks with the threat of redundancy hanging heavily over his head. _

_He'd been giving insights to the development team, things Angel and he had learned during their 'research' sessions. He'd tipped them off about what potential clients were looking for, whether it was better mobility for difficult terrain or heavy artillery, and he'd always been right. He couldn't do it too often though. He couldn't risk anyone asking awkward questions about his sources. It had led to his asshat co-worker, Tassiter, taking credit and getting promoted above him. That said, recently Tassiter had been out of good ideas. Poor Tassiter._

_So now the PR team had their work cut out for them, not least their marketing executive. _

_John had considered trying to explain Angel's abilities to her, but had held back. How could she ever believe having a Siren for a daughter to be anything other than a curse? She'd argued so vehemently with the doctors that her daughter was normal, begged, bribed and blackmailed them to stay silent. Maybe she believed the lie herself, reassured by Angel's apparent lack of strange abilities. But it seemed Angel had inherited a way with lies from her mother. When Mom asked what she'd done at home, Angel knew what to say and what to leave out. At four years of age (Hell, maybe younger), she'd known what she was and kept it secret. _

_She'd inherited the art of keeping secrets from him._

* * *

**A/N: **So... It's not a Saturday anymore. But better late to update than never, right? This "real life" business does have a habit of getting in the way sometimes. Thanks to those who are reading/reviewing. It's always motivating to know someone's out there :)


	6. 6: Execution

**6: Execution**

Ganam worked methodically. He'd seen blood and guts and death before. He tried to keep back the thought that should he make one wrong move, he could soon be seeing his own.

It was an unpleasant task, grafting synthetic nerves onto the damaged tissue of that man's face. The room reeked of iron. But he'd done this sort of thing before. Foul, morally and ethically grey, but he'd survived. His patients had survived too, for the most part. This was his art, what he'd spent his life refining even if it was mostly in theory. Man and machine made whole.

But the crazy man's face, his _real _face, slack and quiescent even without the usual sedatives, made him want to back away in fear. He never flinched, never blinked. Not when the particle saw hummed next to his jawline, not when the hot metal touched his skin. Through it all, his eye betrayed a fanatical smile.

For the first time in his life, Ganam Matronic wished he had stayed content with working on guns.

* * *

_"Anything interesting happening in there?" John indicated the screen, knowing that his daughter's glazed eyes could see him alongside the masses of information she was digesting._

_"Not much." Angel didn't so much as blink. "Jakobs are bringing out a new retro range. There's a start-up called Tediore trying to get funding, but their digistruct technology will take years for them to work the bugs out of. Torgue's had a major industrial accident over on Terria-B. Dahl have started mining on Pandora. There are some supply problems on-"_

_"Mining?" John frowned, skimming through what he knew of Pandora. It was supposed to be an untamed border planet, little more than dust where the dregs of the universe washed up. "What are they mining on Pandora?"_

_"Eridium. It's some kind of super-rare mineral, and they've found big deposits around the equatorial and polar regions." More windows of text opened and closed, a few flickering with security features easily annulled by the Siren girl. "They got some funding from Atlas to do the geological surveys, and they don't want anyone to know Atlas is involved. In fact, I don't think they want people to know what they're doing there full stop. It's publicly labelled as just 'research'."_

_John rubbed his chin thoughtfully, considering the implications. Atlas had been looking for more alien technology ever since they'd struck lucky on Promethia. If they were funding Dahl's mining, then it was likely they suspected something hidden on Pandora. If Hyperion could get there first however..._

_"Those surveys..." He'd barely finished speaking the words when images of rock strata appeared on screen, a 3D image of the planet spinning amidst a tangled web of annotations. "Did they find anything else?"_

_"Hmm. I... They've got some pretty strong encryption on the final reports. I-" Angel winced as if she'd been struck. "Ah. They're bitey."_

_John smiled, patting her on the shoulder. OK, so she used a lot of big words, but she was still a kid underneath. _

_"Just don't take too long, sweetie."_

_He sat back in his seat, shifting his daughter's weight from one knee to the other. He kept an eye on the screen, although he couldn't make sense of most of it. It wasn't even your stereotypical hacker code flitting past. Words and pictures were there for split seconds before vanishing, barely registering in his brain before being replaced by new ones. _

_Then it stopped._

_"I'm in."_

_The images on screen were faintly disturbing. The main one depicted a circle bisected by an upside-down V shape. The others were photos, each showing the symbol in a different place. One was scratched into rock, another daubed in a deep red liquid on a concrete wall. The last showed it carved into a man's chest, his skin bloodless and pale. Thankfully his face was obscured. Angel shivered._

_"The Vault." She whispered, a trickle of sweat running down her face. "It's so... So..."_

_The light bulb in the ceiling light flickered a warning. She was getting agitated. She hadn't done this in a long time._

_"Angel? Shh, it's OK, it's-" The light flared brightly, forcing him to close his eyes even as he comforted her. "You can stop now. We'll look at it another time."_

_"No. Dad, it's... Someone has to stop them! They can't see it. We have to stop them, Dad, we-"_

_The light bulb exploded. Glass rained down on them. Behind him, he could hear his prototype loader batteries humming as they powered up. Too much power and he didn't like to think what would happen._

_"Come on, pumpkin. Everything will be alright if you calm down and tell Daddy-"_

_He heard the front door open, and felt a cold sensation in the pit of his stomach. What was she doing home so early? She'd- Never mind, maybe he could still salvage this. Maybe-_

_"Come on Angel. It's bed time. Come on sweetie, shhh. If Mom finds you-"_

_"John?" There was a shout from the hallway. "John, why aren't the lights working?"_

_Footsteps stormed down the steps to his basement workshop._

_"Angel, please-"_

_"John? What the Hell is going-"_

_She entered the room, little more than a black smear in the gloom. Her eyes were lit from the glow of her daughter's Siren tattoo marking, livid against the darkness. _

_"No." _

_For a woman so formidable, the whispered denial sounded bizarre. It conveyed everything from defeat to horror to betrayal._

_"Honey, it's-"_

_"Don't speak to me. Don't you_ dare _speak to me!" He couldn't see her face, but he didn't need to. _

_"You weren't supposed to let her find out she was-"_

_"A miracle?"_

_"A monster." _

_Even through their exchange, Angel didn't move. She remained rigid, eyes lit with reams of information that was still coursing through her. Her ghostly wings glimmered, and the electrical whining grew louder. John thought he could feel the charge building in the air. He turned his attention back to his little girl, panic setting in. She'd never gone this far before. Something had he so frightened she couldn't get out of the system._

_"Sweetie?" He took her clammy arm and shook her gently. "Angel?"_

_"Don't you ignore me, John! How_ could _you-"_

_He felt her, the love of his life, reach toward him. Whipping around, he shoved her away, hard. She staggered into the metal shelf where he kept castoff loader parts, the resulting tumult of noise reverberating round the room. The stack of batteries sloshed even as they started to vibrate of their own accord._

_"Quiet, you stupid woman!"_

_He'd never raised his voice to her before. His heart hammered hard against his ribs in the stunned silence._

_It was then that every electronic device in the house exploded simultaneously. The screen in front of him seemed to leap forwards in a flash of sparks, missing Angel as she slumped bonelessly to the floor. The symbol of the Vault blazed molten hot on the dead screen, melting the surface as it flew towards him surrounded by electrical sparks._

_Then came the darkness._

* * *

_He hadn't noticed the pain at first. It had stayed locked away somewhere at the back on his consciousness. All his thoughts were consumed by the figure of his daughter, who lay in an awkward heap of spindly limbs._

_"Angel?"_

_She stayed slumped, hair obscuring her face. Fear gripped him, and he tried to drag his screaming body towards her. _

_"Angel? Daddy's going to get help, Angel. Hang on. Just-"_

_A hand grabbed his wrist, icy finger that were slick. He heard someone wheezing behind him. Remembered his wife. Turned his head to see her._

_"No, John. Leave her. She's a monster." His wife coughed weakly, pink spittle dribbling from her perfectly painted lips. "We can't... You see what she's done? No one... Can know. Be the end... Of everything. All my work..."_

_John felt the coldness like a punch in the gut. It could have been blood loss, but he doubted it. It felt more like certainty. Her grip went slack._

_"She shouldn't exist, John. Didn't want to think she could be... She'll ruin everything." She closed her eyes, her expression sad but her voice remorseless. "Should've turned her over to them. Should never have..."_

_John levered himself up onto his elbows, aching from several gashes he could feel tearing across his chest. His face... He didn't want to think about it. He could feel liquid running in rivers down his chin. Blood leaked into one of his eyes, forcing it closed. But he hadn't taken the worst of it. _

_As he shuffled round, he could see her business suit had turned a far darker shade of black if such a thing were possible. Her skin, in contrast, was white. There was a hint of blue about her eyes and lips, something even her make up couldn't conceal. _

_At this rate, she didn't have long._

_His wife coughed weakly as he crawled next to her. Her eyes stared up at him, questioning and angry._

_"Why did you let her become this? She wasn't supposed to know. Let her go, John. She has to..."_

_Her words were barely whispers. It was clear she wanted to say more, but the rattle in her chest forced the air from her lungs. A medic could probably save her. He could save her._

_"Shh. It'll be alright. I love you."_

_He didn't._

_He reached towards her, tracing her jawline in a final caress before his hands moved ever so slightly lower._

* * *

The man's fingers twitched into claws as Ganam cleaned up his new face, letting the sticky red Anshin liquid seal up the last of the cuts. He'd closed his eyes when it had been attached and hadn't opened them since, though thankfully has was clearly alive. That said, Ganam wasn't thankful. He knew the Frankenstein story well enough. The monster came back to get its maker.

And Ganam wasn't yet sure what kind of monster he'd unleashed on the universe.

* * *

_He sat in silence for what seemed an eternity. The room was a spinning blur of smashed glass and icy cold, but his skin burned. He hadn't moved though. Couldn't. Wasn't sure why. His hands felt stiff and hot, palms itching like a bad case of pins and needles. Somewhere in the distance he could hear a siren. _

_A Siren. He almost laughed, the sound coming out like a strangled choke. There was a noise behind him._

_Angel picked herself up weakly, struggling onto all fours. Her eyes remained glossed over, unseeing as if still connected to the network. Blood dripped down her Siren tattoo-covered arm, the skin clammy and washed out looking._

_"Pandora." She whispered the world like a mantra, barely audible. "The Vault. There's something... Something so_ big_..."_

_Her haunted gaze finally met his own. He reached out a hand to comfort her, although he wasn't sure which one of the many Angels he could see was the real one. The room seemed to be tipping at an impossible angle. It was like some hellish kaleidoscope. The many Angels recoiled in horror. _

_"Dad, what... What happened?" She reached out a trembling hand to trace the lines of fire on his face, a horrified recognition lighting her eyes before she cast a desperate look around the room. "Where's Mom?"_

_He didn't have to answer. Didn't even have to turn to know that she had seen the prone form in the darkness, still and pale as she'd never been in life. Angel shrank back, breathing heavily. _

_"I did this, didn't I? It wasn't- I didn't mean-"_

_Maybe, a little voice in the back of his head whispered, it's better this way. After all, technically she's right._

_"Shh, pumpkin." The siren was getting louder now. "Stay calm. Dad will make this alright. Say nothing."_

_"But-"_

_"Nothing, you understand? N-" The floor shifted violently in the other direction. "It's all for your own good. All for you..."_

_Then like so many other things in John's life, the floor rushed up and punched him in the face._

* * *

He strode out into the sunlight, blinking away the red dots that burned themselves into his one good retina after being so used to the gloom. The W1 loader clanked as it raised itself from standby mode, levelling its yellow and black gun arm to aim at face height.

"Identify."

The man grinned. It was a terrible, manic look. The loader kept the gun aimed, its red visual sensor staring mercilessly. Just the way he'd designed it to.

"Handsome Jack."

"Identification accepted." It whirred. "Instructions required."

"We're leaving." Jack brushed past the black torso of the prototype, noting how it fell into step behind him as he headed for the drop shuttle. But there was something that had been bothering him. Something the crusty old mechanic had said.

_"They'd have to be the best damn hacker in the system to do anything to it..."_

He turned his attention to his pilfered ECHO (lone Dahl sentries tended to be very amicable in handing over their kit when they were comatose), opening a secure channel.

"Angel?"

"Yes d- sir?"

His daughter's voice wavered slightly as an image projected before his eyes. A young woman, smiling and carefree, her hair blowing in a virtual breeze. It was probably a good representation of what Angel would look like in about 10 years. She looked so much like her long deceased mother it made his chest burn more than the clips that dug into his flesh. His palms itched.

"I know I told you to practise your projection. I know I told you to keep your identity hidden from people outside." His voice was low and dangerous, the words coming through clenched teeth. "But don't use that face with me, Angel. Don't _ever_ use that face with me."

"Sorry sir."

The perfected female face flickered, and then there was his daughter. His little princess, eight years old and so pretty even with half her hair missing. How she'd cried when he'd had to cut it off to attach the sensors. It was for her own good.

"Now tell me, is there anything... I don't know, different about me that you can sense?"

The pale projection of the Siren girl looked thoughtful for a moment, and even from the distance between the planet's surface and his commandeered satellite he could feel the thrum of her creepy Siren power directed at him.

"You have a loader with you. A W1 prototype. And..." A frown marred her pretty face. "There's something uh... Well, it's attached to you. It's electronic, but it's also... Not. I can't tell what it is."

Jack smile grew wider.

"Good. Now do your homework. I expect to see a full survey of Pandora's surface by tomorrow."

"Yes sir."

Her image faded as he closed the channel, although he got the feeling Angel could still spy on him via the technology around him. That said, it was a relief to know that even she, one of the great and terrible Sirens couldn't tamper with his new face. The mechanic had done a good job.

Jack stopped in his tracks, an idea forming as they so often did these days. The old man in the bunker had so many files, so much paperwork. It would be such a shame for bandits to get their hands on it all. Besides, he had a more immediate use for some of this fancy bionic interface stuff. He'd been wondering how to improve his W1 design. He'd just need a volunteer or two, and...

He turned to the loader, looking it in the optical receptor.

"W1-H31M- I am so going to have to find you a better name- I have new instructions for you."

Something inside the loader clanked as it played back the recording of John's voice.

"Accompany identity Handsome Jack to surface drop shuttle. Await launch and successful exit

atmosphere signal. Destroy all life forms within 1 kilometre radius."

The loader twitched violently before returning to its own deep, electronic tone.

"Override?"

Jack rubbed his chin, ignoring the sting as his finger traced the unfamiliar clip and line that ran along his jaw. He enjoyed giving instructions and having them followed. With his new face, he'd be able to do so much more than just order loaders about.

"No, just an amendment to the parameters." The corner of his synthetic mouth twitched upwards in a perfect reconstruction of his old sneer. Only this one had more elegance. He already liked it better.

"Make it 10 kilometres."


	7. 7: Evaluation

**7: Evaluation**

The Sun was hideously bright, burning his flesh even through the swathes of bandit-rags he'd dug out of the corner of his bunker.

It would be his home no longer. Like hell he trusted the man with the new face. He was a slippery one. Lies came as easily as breathing to people like him.

Ganam had fled as soon as the hum of the loader had vanished. He hadn't had much time, so he'd only taken a small bag containing the last of his dried rations and a handful of high grade Crystalisk shards he'd once taken as payment from some Atlas research jobsworth. He'd dug out his red-tinted dune goggles, designed to cut down the Sun glare on particularly harsh planet surfaces. They were old, the seals cracked. Sand blew in on the stormy gusts that threatened to turn The Dust into a blur of orange. It was already getting difficult to be sure of what direction he was heading in. Towards the Hodunks, he hoped. Towards the closest thing he had to friends in this place. They could help him. Provided they didn't take it upon themselves to kill him. Provided he even found them. He hadn't set a foot outside in about 3 years, content to hide beneath the dunes. Paid in food, water and solitude, it hadn't mattered to him. Now his sheltered life could cost him dearly.

The mechanic cursed, tapping the top secret prototype Dahl HUD he'd attached to the damaged goggles. Questionable bandit work may have been his bread and butter, almost literally, but the occasional off-the-record visit from unspecified corporate parties hadn't been a problem either. Their payment methods tended to be a little more… exotic.

The map flickered on the edge of his left eye's vision, refusing to stay still. It looked like he was heading North, and he hoped it was right. With the Sun directly overhead, the slightly buggy piece of kit that legally didn't exist was all he had to go on. For a man who distrusted these new-fangled electronic gizmos, it wasn't very reassuring.

He tried his best to keep optimistic, although it was hard to break the habit of a lifetime. Once he got off this rock, maybe he could find something better to do with his knowledge. Something less life threatening. A nice, anonymous research job somewhere they wouldn't ask too many questions. If he remembered rightly Eden-5 was supposed to have a big technology college, and their government was as corrupt as they came. An average looking man with enough cash to buy off the more astute members of planet population control should have no problem blending in. The belt pouch of Crystalisk shards bounced reassuringly against his thigh.

No problem at all. Just as long as he could-

He stopped in his tracks. Beyond the howl of the wind, Ganam heard something. A growling rumble, reassuringly mechanical. A technical.

He saw the shape of it fly over the barely visible dunes, swerving as one of its occupants pointed towards him with a shout. There were three of them, all uniformly male, wiry and wearing similar eye shield goggles to Ganam's own. As they approached, the man on the gun turret swung it towards the mechanic. Sand sprayed from the sharply breaking wheels.

"What you doin' out here, old man?"

The second passenger, a younger male wearing a red bandana and an assortment of bandages slammed his fists down on the dashboard. His face broke into a wide, excited smile that didn't speak of any great intellect.

"Shall we shoot him? I been wantin' to try out my new shotgun."

The driver stood up, taking one hand from the wheel to lift his goggles ever so slightly.

"Gun-man?" He squinted against the stinging sand, recognition entering his deep set eyes. "Hey, everybody, it's Gun-man!"

"Gah, prickerbushes. So no shootin' then?"

The driver cuffed his young companion on the head, hissing at him in a low tone.

"He's _Gun-man_, you idiot!"

While the two bandits bickered, Ganam racked his brain for something that could help him. That face was familiar. He'd met the driver before, done business with him. What was his name? He pulled back a little of his face covering, forcing himself to use his friendly business transaction smile.

"Well, if it isn't Kyle Hodunk. Scope repair and augmented corrosion... How's she holding up?"

He wasn't sure if bandits did pleasantries. Wasn't sure if anyone did anymore. It was a shot in the dark.

Kyle Hodunk reached down, bobbing as the engine thrummed beneath his feet, and produced a familiar piece-of-junk gun that had been given the Matronic treatment. He held it up, eye to said repaired scope, and levelled it.

Mercifully, he didn't shoot. He lowered it again, staring at it in a way Ganam had seen parents look at their offspring.

"Works like a charm. She's a beauty." He turned his attention back to the mechanic. "So whatchu doin' out here? I thought you was all loner-like."

Ganam wondered just how much he could trust these young bandits. About as far as a loader could spit most likely, considering it was a physical impossibility. But the turn of phrase reminded him of another all too present danger. He didn't have much choice.

"I need help. A lift. I need to leave The Dust."

The bandits looked at each other.

"Can't we just shoot him? I_ really_ wanna try-"

The boy got another cuff on the head.

"You always been good to us Hodunks, Gun-man. I'll take you back to camp then see who's goin' where. Hop on." Kyle sat back down, elbowing his passenger once more. "I ain't letting you shoot Gun-man. I didn't get that shotgun dolled up special only for you to kill the guy what made it!"

Ganam hobbled his way round the side of the technical, hoisting his protesting body up its side and into the back area designed for luggage. Whatever that normally was, he didn't want to know. It had a particularly metallic tang that stuck in the back of his throat and made him wince. The boy in front swung round to look at him, eyes wide beneath the goggles.

"You _make_ guns?" He whispered reverently. "Are you like God?"

Ganam sighed, resigning himself to the bandit's company.

* * *

He was jostled awake as the technical swerved, undoubtedly caused by the incoherent shouting of the bandit on the turret.

"Holy macaroons! I ain't never seen anything like that!"

"What you seen, Kenny?"

"Can I shoot it?"

Ganam shook the lethargy from his head, taking the opportunity to look around. Blank dunes still blurred past. The sky had turned a shade of purple peculiar to nights after dust storms. It was almost beautiful.

What he caught sight of in the sky was anything but.

"It's some kinda angel outta Hell, man!" Kenny the turret man shrieked, aiming it up into the sky but holding back from firing. "It's come to rain death and despair on us all!"

"I don't care if it's your own mother taking flyin' lessons! If it gets too close, shoot the damn thing down!"

Kyle put his foot down. The technical engine sounded close to exploding. Ganam was thrown around as his bandit rescuer's driving technique tested the vehicle's suspension to its very limits.

"It's still coming!"

"_Now _can I-?"

"_SHOOT IT! BRING IT DOWN!_"

The air was filled with the steady crack of gunfire, sparks flying as the bullets ricocheted off of the great black thing that floated downwards out of another gargantuan leap. Ganam felt cold as he heard a familiar modulated voice.

"Increasing aggression."

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, cold spreading out across his body despite the warmth of the night air. His premonition had been correct: the faceless man would be the death of him.

Then the technical crested a high dune, landing awkwardly with enough force to fling Ganam from where he had hunkered down. As he flew through the air, he caught sight of the yellow and black loader leaping again, jets of fire bursting from its ungainly feet.

Maybe, he thought, just maybe it would disregard the bundle to rags and bones that had fallen from the vehicle. Sorry Kyle, but that's life. That's business.

He landed hard, rolling inside his own miniature sandstorm before coming to rest in a gully between two enormous dunes. Ganam groaned. He was definitely too old for all this excitement.

Before he could stand, a foot landed mere inches from his head. Although it wasn't a foot. It was a bent square of black metal welded to pneumatic piston-driven legs with a familiar brand name emblazoned on it in bright yellow letters. The madman in a yellow shirt, the gun he'd had so much fun using to inspire fear, they hadn't been lifestyle choices but _clues_.

"Hyperion _bastard_." Ganam hissed through cracked lips.

He curled up and waited to die.

"Activating phase shift."

A voice. A girl's voice, young and wavering a little but definitely there. The loader towering above him made a strange clanking noise as it inexplicably froze, glaring down at him with one foot lifted and ready to crush.

"Mission suc-succe-success-"

The tinny voice lowered as it ran out of steam. The light in its red eye flickered and went out.

Ganam shivered in the sand, barely able to breathe, let alone move. His HUD display crackled with static before clearing, and in front of his eyes was a young woman. She smiled at him.

"It's alright. I've shut him down for now. He'll start up again in two minutes and head to his drop point with clearance showing he's finished his assignment. I'd move away from his feet before then."

She sounded cool, calm, collected and so very, very young. A child's voice. It didn't match the face.

"Who are you? How did you-" Ganam broke into a fit of coughing, breathing in too much of the fine sand. His chest burned, and he was fairly sure he'd cracked a rib or two.

"It doesn't matter. I just... I didn't want you to..." She cleared her throat, erasing the emotional edge to her words. So professional. "I've been watching you, and I didn't want to see you get hurt."

"Saved by my very own guardian angel." He coughed again although he'd tried to laugh. Probably for the best, as it would have sounded borderline hysterical. "Thanks."

"Really, I'd move now. He's going to come back online in T -30."

"Oh. Right."

Shaking, Ganam rolled himself the right way up. A fire seemed to be burning up his left side, but the fear of the balancing loader kept the adrenaline going enough for him to start dragging himself away.

He'd made it half way up a dune by the time the whirring sound indicated the monstrous loader starting up. Ganam cast it a nervous look over his shoulder. It teetered for a moment before lowering its raised leg.

"-successful. Bandits eliminated."

It turned away, fire bursting from its feet as it launched itself into the air. Only the squared off indents from where it had landed proved it had ever been there, and even those were filling in with the steady creep of desert sand.

"See? You and your friends are safe for now."

"For now?"

"Mhmm. There's something..." The woman kept smiling despite the worry in her voice. Her expression and all her mannerisms just seemed to loop infinitely. "There's something big going to happen here. On Pandora. You should get as far away as possible."

"Well girly, that ain't going to be very far now is it?" Ganam fell back into sarcasm like it was comfortable body armour. Not very good against loaders mind, but against life it was invaluable. He probed his ribcage, wincing as his fingers found a little too much give in his bones. Damn, he should have kept some of the madman's Anshin for himself.

"Your friends have already doubled back to pick you up."

"How do you know all this?"

The girl's voice laughed a child's laugh.

"Easy. Eyes in the sky." Then all humour fled her face. "I gotta go. Work to do. Stay safe, Mr Matronic."

And then she was gone.

Ganam lay back in the sand and tried to breath. He had no idea what had just happened, but it seemed that fate had given him a second chance (although it was probably a few more down the line than 'second', but it was a figure of speech).

In the distance, a familiar engine roared.

"Gun-man? Gun-man, you out there?"

"I sees him! Over there!"

"Where'd that thing go? Did... Did he make it go away?"

"Haha, Gun-man is bad-_ass_."

"Woah. He really is like God…"

Ganam looked up to the sky. There were a hundred million twinkling, shining worlds out there. There had to be one better than this. He wasn't going to stick around to have his monster come for him again.

"I think it's about time I retired." He whispered to the stars.

.

* * *

.

A/N: Well, that's my first full length fan fiction in rather a long time, and first on this site. It's been a place for me to drop a whole load of my headcanon for Borderlands into, the coming up with of which kept me sane through many long bus journeys. Thank you to any readers out there for taking the time to do so. I hope you enjoyed it :)


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